Iron Dragon's Advancement Journey

Page 92

　Fiona wanted to say something, but after hesitating for a moment, she nodded solemnly: "Take care."

　Casalos turned to Eisen: "Go directly to the forward base and inform Svent and the expeditionary force to prepare. Perhaps in the near future, I will need you to fight a war against the legion of some god's kingdom."

　Exhausted, Eisen bowed his head in greeting: "Yes, my lord. But..."

　Casalos glanced at the loyal dog, pondered for a moment, then turned to Garros: "May I borrow two dimensional bags, friend?"

　Gallos nodded understandingly: "Of course, I'll arrange it. However, do you need my assistance? The expedition is temporarily blocked by the glacier, so I can withdraw..."

　“No,” Casalos shook his head, “Your place is here. Damara needs you, Faerûn needs you—stay vigilant, the threat from the Exotic and Orcus is far from over.”

　After a moment of silence, Gaelos finally nodded: "May the god of kindness bless you."

　After arranging everything, Casalos took one last look around the camp, then suddenly soared into the air. Unlike its cautious approach on the way there, this time it flew almost recklessly southwest, quickly disappearing from the horizon.

　Eisen watched her master depart, her heart filled with mixed emotions. She vaguely sensed the gravity of the situation, but she had an almost blind trust in the young iron dragon's strength. After all, Casalos had already brought many miracles to the Dragon Territory.

　After an unknown amount of time, a lithe figure stood beside Eisen. "Come on," Fiona said, "Dragon Nightmare has prepared a dimensional bag for you, filled with supplies. Rest for a few more days before setting off back."

　"I don't need the dimensional bag for supplies along the way," Eisen said without uttering his true thoughts. He simply nodded and followed the dragon, Athena, who had a close relationship with his dragon lord, away from the edge of the camp.

　Meanwhile, Casalos had already flown over a hundred kilometers. It ascended directly into the sky, summoned the higher elements of the four basic elements to adorn its body, and transformed into a hybrid form of the four elements that could only be entered with the assistance of a pseudo-Laplace's demon. It forcefully smashed apart the dangerous storms and elemental chaos.

　Casalos made no attempt to conceal its power at this moment, unleashing a unified elemental force that tore apart any chaotic energy that attacked without hesitation.

　"Isis, you'd better be alright," Casalos muttered to himself, "or I'll spank your ass until it's bruised and battered."

　It had considered teleporting directly from Damara to Cormier, but with the magic network collapsing, even though it was used to offline spellcasting, long-distance teleportation was almost suicidal—some spells were only effective because of the magic network's support rather than the caster's magic power, and teleportation spells of all types fell into this category. It was almost impossible to complete the spell offline, unless it drained the magic power of hundreds or thousands of people like high elf magic.

　Anyway, it's not that far from Damara to Cormier, so let's just fly there.

　Throughout the flight, Casalos continued to consider various possibilities. How deeply was Isis involved? Had she accepted Mystra's request? What preparations was Bane making? If the plot deviated from its remembered trajectory, what chain reaction would it likely trigger? And, most importantly, in what capacity should it intervene in this battle of the gods?

　Casalos's semi-God-like perspective made it perfectly clear that the power struggles between the gods were sometimes far more complex than they appeared. Those beings were nothing more than a bunch of overgrown children with immense power but severely immature minds. To recklessly intrude and provoke them would be tantamount to asking for trouble.

　But it must go, and it must go quickly.

　This isn't just for Isis; it's also for the potential future variables—Cassaros, the little butterfly that flits its wings and drags Isis into the heart of the turmoil, is a crucial node in the web of fate. Isis is merely caught in its web; its choices may influence the future of Faerûn and even the gods. Rather than being passively drawn in by some unexpected event, it's better to be prepared and actively participate. Even if one can't control the whole situation, at least one can try to steer the future in a direction slightly more favorable to oneself.

　So far, the pseudo-Laplace's calculations have never been wrong, and this time will probably be no exception. Simply by aiming the flight direction at the center of the vortex, the unexpected events encountered during the flight were greatly reduced, with only ordinary thunderstorms and activated elements occasionally causing trouble. Even the red dragons huddled together in the Moon Sea did not jump out to stop it, but simply looked up and watched the iron dragon fly by with a series of muffled roars.

　Casaloz proceeded smoothly without any obstacles.

　As dusk fell, it peered through a thundercloud, its gaze settling on the distant horizon to its right. The sky shrouded the Great Forest of Comansel took on an unnatural purple hue, a clear sign of magical turmoil.

　The army that had set out from Santil Castle had already crossed Fuenra and joined forces with the legions of the Desert Mountains, forming a dark mass that enveloped Shadow Valley. Casalos knew he no longer needed to proceed to Cormir. That was Bane's dark army, and Bane's saint was hiding within it—the source of the magical chaos—though even he himself was unaware of it.

　The battle for Shadow Valley has begun, and Isis is currently in Shadow Valley.

　For some reason, Casalos suddenly felt a sense of anticipation. Perhaps this was fate's arrangement? It smiled, deactivated its elemental form, and resumed cruising flight, adjusting its state to prepare for the upcoming battle.

　51. A fierce defensive battle

　The pre-dawn silence was broken by the distant sound of war drums. The deep, rhythmic beats sounded like the footsteps of Death—not just like, because Bane was one of Death's, and the most powerful one at that, and He was closing in on Shadow Valley step by step.

　Isis stood on the high ground behind the first line of defense, her Demon Eyes allowing her to clearly see the distorted halo above Bane's army in the distance.

　In the morning mist, tens of thousands of soldiers stood in neat square formations, their heavy footsteps causing the earth to tremble slightly. Their black armor gleamed coldly in the rising sun, like a moving sea of ​​metal. Each step shattered the remaining magic on the earth, making the already chaotic magical fabric even more disordered.

　“It has begun.” Kavoran’s voice came from behind. He was fully armed, holding a weathered longsword, his eyes cold and focused. His armor was covered with cracked runes, which Isis had inscribed a few days ago, barely able to seal the chaotic magic within, providing the warrior with some protection in critical moments.

　Isis nodded, offering no reply. Her attention was focused on the trajectory of the magic, searching for the most stable point to prepare for the first wave of spells. Even now, the simplest...

Chapter 291

　Even a simple spell can produce unexpected effects. A tiny mistake can lead to disastrous consequences. The clouds in the sky have an unnatural rusty brown hue; it's good news that the sun hasn't caused any new trouble today. The Demon Eye can see abnormal arcs of electricity dancing within the clouds, and fragments of magic colliding like sharp blades. If misdirected, they could backfire on the caster.

　The guards on the defensive line gripped their weapons tightly. Compared to the well-trained Bain army, these hastily conscripted militiamen seemed so weak and powerless. Many of their weapons had never even been tempered; they were merely modified farm tools or parts from game traps. Most of them had been working in the fields just two days ago, and today they were on the battlefield, facing the regular army of the god of tyranny. Fear flickered in their eyes, but behind that fear, a sliver of determination to defend their homeland sustained their trembling legs.

　“Remember the plan,” Kevoran whispered to the soldiers, his voice carrying a steady strength. “We don’t seek to defeat the enemy, but only to buy time. Utilize the terrain, utilize the traps; every moment of delay is a victory.”

　Bane's army drew ever closer until they stopped about two hundred yards from the jungle. An eerie silence enveloped the battlefield. Then, from the center of the enemy ranks emerged a tall figure clad in black armor. He rode a jet-black warhorse, his helmet adorned with Bane's insignia—a skull holding a black holy symbol. With each step his steed took, a purple aura of death rose from the ground, instantly withering vegetation and turning it to ash.

　Ronles Knightsbury looked at the militiamen armed with tattered weapons, feeling no emotion. He was a competent military commander. He had made all the preparations in the first two days before the army set out. However, the supply convoys had not been attacked, which aroused Knightsbury's suspicion. Either the garrison in Shadow Valley had failed to notice the greatest weakness of Bann's tens of thousands of troops, or they simply did not have enough manpower to sabotage the supply lines. They left fifty men to guard the road every ten miles they advanced. Although Bann might not agree with this approach, Knightsbury would never allow his rear to be undefended, even if it cost him a quarter of his forces.

　When the army reached the northeastern part of the valley, Netsbury was surprised again. He had expected the forest to be burned, but it seemed that Shadow Valley had no intention of surrendering; they wanted to fight.

　Netsbury had planned to camp and rest on the outskirts of the forest. The army had endured a long march, and their visors could no longer conceal their exhaustion. They needed to rest before they could fight effectively; the undermanned Shadow Valley garrison was unlikely to launch an attack.

　But Bann gave the opposite order.

　Their orders were to enter the forest at dawn and strike in the shadows—it was a joke. The army had marched through the city in a grand procession, never concealing its movements; the enemy had already prepared their defenses, and now you're telling me you're planning a sneak attack?

　Soldiers were forbidden from using torches, and spellcasters were also prohibited from using magic. This meant that when the soldiers entered the forest in a noisy manner, there was no way to enhance their senses, and the exhausted soldiers, frozen by the night dew, would be met with a fierce attack from the Shadow Valley garrison.

　The terrified soldiers still entered the forest.

　The eldest and most experienced, Modent de Krue, rode beside Netzbury, with Litim and Rusch close behind.

　“This is tantamount to suicide,” Littim said.

　To the other officers' surprise, Netsbury nodded.

　Rushi raised his sword. "That is the command given to us by our master and the gods."

　“One we cannot…” Netsbury interrupted Litim’s protest, suddenly raising his warhammer and shouting into the forest, “In the name of Bane, offer your souls and blood! Surrender and you will be spared, but those who resist will face eternal torment!” His voice seemed to come from the abyss, each syllable carrying an otherworldly power that made the listeners tremble involuntarily.

　There was silence in response to him.

　Netsbury gave a cold laugh and lowered his warhammer. He had done all he could; if Bane wanted the army to die, there was nothing he could do.

　Cornell Greysight was the first scout in Shadow Valley to detect the approaching enemy. He climbed to a suitable spot in a tree and quietly observed the movements of the enemy army. About four hundred meters behind him, another archer did the same. This scout group, perched in the treetops, extended all the way to Kragg Pool. All the sentries were in position, each able to clearly see the bright colors of the khaki in the hands of the archers in front of them, thus allowing them to signal to the town's garrison without revealing themselves.

　The noise returned, this time accompanied by cries of pain. Connell quickly raised the color chart, turning the brightest color side towards his back; his hands were sweaty, and his heart pounded.

　The archer peered ahead and could now see the Santyrs struggling among the gnarled branches that blocked the road. The trunks leaned in different directions, luring them into a trap whether on foot or horseback. Even if the Santyrs tried to bypass the area, they would be met with the same predicament.

　Connell shook the card with one short and three long swirls, and the hooting of owls from behind told him the signal had been received. He climbed down from the tree and quickly woke the three archers closer to the road.

　The sounds of the army chopping branches and moving through them accompanied the pre-dawn darkness, masking all the sounds of the archers preparing and moving, operating in blind spots and preparing quivers in all positions.

　Their gods have driven them to the slaughterhouse, Connell thought.

　The order to fire was conveyed with the flashing of the color card. The soldiers' angry growls suddenly turned into death screams, and a hail of arrows erupted from the forest, piercing through Bane's army.

　Following the advance party, more archers arrived and found their positions in the roadside forest, raising their bows and firing in unison. Some Santyrs fought their way through the obstacles, while others used the corpses of their fallen comrades as human shields against the rain of arrows from above.

　They ran forward cursing loudly, only noticing the tall wooden stakes protruding from the road when their chests were pierced. Connell and the advance party of archers began to retreat, crawling from their original positions to the safe route through the forest, withdrawing to the second line of defense.

　The second group of archers followed the advance party, preparing to retreat towards the town with them. Connell couldn't help but thank the gods, for all the sentries of Shadow Valley had survived, and he hadn't heard the sound of arrows being loaded on the road behind them. Santyr's arrows pierced through the obstruction of branches, hundreds of arrows tracing arcs through the air, most of them either striking tree trunks and embedding themselves among the branches, or losing momentum and falling lightly to the ground.

　He didn't see a black arrow fall from the sky, traversing the trees.

　Cornell Grey felt a metallic taste in his throat, then his vision was shrouded in darkness. An arrow carrying dark power pierced his heart, killing him instantly.

　Bane's army fought through the jungle for hours, breaking through countless lines of defense along the way. Whenever they discovered a new undefended area, Bane insisted that his troops find another route. The infantry always led the way, and whenever they found a new trap, they were the first to trigger it.

　Soldiers fell into pits filled with sharp wooden stakes and chaotic magic, where they were either crushed or impaled into rags by the barbed wire pushed forward by the army behind them...

　But the army ultimately carved out the jungle with its blood and flesh.

　The war drums suddenly quickened, and Bane's archers stepped forward, unleashing a rain of arrows. Countless arrows pierced the sky, flying towards the second line of defense. These were no ordinary arrows—each one was imbued with some kind of shadow energy, emitting a ghostly purple light as it flew, whistling like a swarm of bats.

　"Get down!" Isis shouted, her hands drawing complex runes in the air. Magic gathered at her fingertips, and chaotic magic filled the surrounding area.

Chapter 292

　She forcibly suppressed it back into place, creating a temporary stable point. The magic spread out at an astonishing speed, forming a semi-transparent barrier. Fortunately, before she left the Dragon Territory, Casalos had taught her how to steadily cast spells in a chaotic magical environment, and this finally came in handy.

　Most of the arrows were blocked by the barrier, dissipating into wisps of black smoke as they hit the ground. But a few pierced the spell with incredible trajectories, landing behind the defensive line. The guards struck didn't simply fall; instead, they screamed in agony, their skin rapidly turning black, veins bulging, and black blood seeping from their eyes. This manner of death plunged the surrounding guards into even deeper terror.

　“The first wave was a success,” Isis breathed a sigh of relief, but quickly frowned again, sweat dripping from her forehead. “But the fluctuations in the magic network are more severe than I anticipated. The protective shield may not be able to hold for much longer.”

　Kavoran nodded, signaling the archers to prepare for a counterattack. "Proceed according to plan."

　The retreating scouts joined the archers, reloaded their arrows, and nervously drew their bows. Strips of oil-soaked cloth were tied to the arrowheads and ignited. These fire arrows, normally used against wolf packs, had now become their weapons against the army of the god of the underworld.

　"Fire!" With Kevoran's command, hundreds of rockets flew towards the enemy ranks, most of whom were still huddled in the jungle. Isis manipulated her magic, splitting the burning arrows into several waves, which landed precisely in the pre-set traps within the jungle.

　The pre-laid hay and oil were ignited, forming a wall of fire that dried the damp air, then ignited the jungle, filling the air with acrid smoke that temporarily obscured the enemy's vision. This gave the Shadow Valley defenders a few precious minutes to regroup—but not much; in the dry season, the jungle fire would have engulfed Bane's army.

　Death was spreading, and Bane was ecstatic; his power grew with each death, just as Melkor had promised. The Dark Lord's body radiated a red aura, the effect of absorbing countless souls. As more and more people died—whether from Zantir or the Vale—the aura intensified, and the Dark Lord found it increasingly difficult to contain his joy.

　However, Bane continued to feign anger towards his army, which couldn't even break through such a rudimentary defensive line, and he continued to drive his followers and troops toward their deaths.

　Bane's army began to advance, braving flames, more traps, and a hail of swords. Heavy infantry led the way, forming an iron torrent that surged towards the defensive line. They stepped over the wall of fire, seemingly oblivious to the heat, their eyes filled only with cold obedience. Beneath that armor, it was difficult to distinguish between the living and the dead.

　“This is insane,” Kailanwo said, unable to believe that any general would attempt such a foolish tactic.

　“Yes,” Huxgard said, “but we’re dealing with the Santyrs after all.” He chuckled and patted Kelanvor on the back.

　Santyr's army drew ever closer to the obstacle blocking the path beside the Pool of Krag. The four-meter-high, several-dozens-meter-wide barrier, composed of stones, debris, mud, and overturned wagons, held the army back, while the second line of archers opposite the Pool of Krag inflicted heavy casualties on them.

　They seem to lack a spellcaster like Isis who can normally cast defensive magic.

　The army was forced to halt in front of the barrier, and Bane, trailing at the back of the column, became enraged. "Why can't we just go straight over that pile of rocks?" he roared. "I want my army to reach Shadow Valley within an hour, so you'd better order them to destroy or scale that wall."

　Kruqi frowned and said, "But... Lord Bane, the Vale people want us to cross the barrier before we are attacked. If we cross the wall, that will be their perfect opportunity to strike."

　“Why not go around it?” Littim asked.

　The Lord of Darkness frowned. "That would force our army to disperse and cross the forest, which would play right into the hands of the Valley People."

　The young officer from the front lines stammered, "But we'll lose a lot of men—"

　“Enough!” Bane shouted, slapping the officer across the face with his glove, causing the man to fall from his horse. Bane looked down at the man, who was staggering to his feet, a cruel smile on his face. “I am your god, my orders are absolute. We must get over the roadblock with all our might, now.”

　The officer remounted his horse. "Yes, Lord Bane."

　Isis cast her spell again, this time directly attacking the enemy formation. The omnipresent magic rippled violently like a torn spiderweb. A blazing flame shot from her fingertip, splitting into dozens of fireballs in mid-air, crashing down on the enemy ranks. Explosions rang out in quick succession, dozens of enemy soldiers were thrown to the ground, their metal armor melting under the intense heat, flowing down their bodies. But disturbingly, the soldiers engulfed in flames did not scream; they remained coldly silent even as they fell, their eyes vacant, as if their souls had already been ripped away.

　“The priests of Bane gave them some kind of blessing,” Isis said through gritted teeth. “Their God is with them, and they are not afraid of pain and death.” She felt a wave of dizziness; the over-casting was gradually draining her magic, becoming a mental burden, but she had no other choice.

　The enemy's advance was not slowed by casualties. As they approached the defensive line, the javelin throwers began to hurl their weapons. Isis had already imbued each short spear with a faint spell, enabling them to pierce ordinary armor.

　Rows of enemy soldiers fell, but more soldiers continued to advance over the corpses of their comrades, as if honor, not death, awaited them ahead.

　When the enemy was only fifty yards from the defensive line, Kavoran gave the order: "Trigger the traps!"

　The pre-placed tripwires were pulled, sending a barrage of spikes flying from the ground. Simultaneously, hidden catapults launched nets filled with rubble, hurling them at the enemy's densely packed ranks. In an instant, the air was filled with the clanging of metal, the muffled thud of flesh breaking, and the clatter of shattering bones. The enemy's front ranks were almost instantly annihilated; entrails and blood splattered, staining the armor of their comrades behind them crimson.

　But Bann's army quickly adapted to the situation. Their officers calmly reorganized their formation and sent out engineers to clear the obstacles. These engineers, armed with specially made long-handled weapons, faced death without fear, even filling the traps with their own bodies to create a path for the following troops.

　The battle officially began, and the militiamen, dressed in leather armor and cloth and wielding farm tools, were harvested like wheat.

　Meanwhile, the cavalry on both flanks began to circle around the Krag Pool, attempting to outflank the defensive line.

　“They’re going to break through from the flank,” Kevoran quickly assessed. “Isis, what can you do?”

　Isis was fortunate enough to find a relatively stable point within the coiled magic cocoon. She took a deep breath and began chanting a complex incantation. The temperature in the air plummeted, and a thin layer of ice formed on the ground, rapidly spreading towards the enemy cavalry.

　The cavalry's horses began to slip and lose their balance. Some even fell over, throwing their riders several meters away, where they crashed into rocks or tree trunks and died instantly, their limbs twisted into impossible angles. But this did not completely stop their advance; the following cavalry quickly adjusted their course to avoid the ice.

　“We need to retreat,” Kevoran judged. “This line of defense can no longer hold.” His voice remained calm, but Isis could see a hint of worry in his eyes—the casualties were far greater than expected.

　Isis nodded in agreement. She unleashed her final wave of spells. A strong wind swept across the battlefield, kicking up clouds of dust to provide cover for the retreat. This level of elemental manipulation had nearly exhausted her, but she managed to stay upright.

　Kevoran organized the soldiers' orderly retreat, but the process proved far more difficult than anticipated. Many guards had fallen into panic; witnessing the almost supernatural fighting prowess of the Bane Legion, their fear had completely erupted. Some dropped their weapons and fled, while others remained frozen in place.

Chapter 293

　They even forgot how to move.

　"Control your fear!" Kevoran roared, his voice carrying an irresistible force. "Fear is what Bane desires! Every person who dies because of fear makes Him stronger!"

　These words had some effect, but the retreat remained chaotic. Enemy arrows continued to reap lives, and Isis felt a sharp pain with each fallen warrior. She saw their souls being pulled by some force, merging into the black mist that filled the battlefield.

　By the time they reached another defensive line on the western shore of Krag Pool, the sun was high in the sky. The terrain here was more advantageous; the narrow passages forced the enemy to slow down and compress their formation. More ranged weapons were positioned on the high ground, and guards lay in ambush behind short walls, ready to launch a counterattack if the enemy approached.

　“Prepare for the next phase,” Kevoran commanded. “Remember, our objective is attrition and delay.” He quickly assessed the remaining forces—more than a third had been killed or wounded, and Bane’s army had suffered even greater losses due to flawed decisions, but they were simply too numerous, and their soldiers seemed fearless. This bizarre battlefield situation instilled despair even in the most experienced veterans.

　“They’re collecting souls,” Isis whispered to Kevoran. “Bane must be planning some kind of grand ritual.” It was more like a carefully orchestrated sacrifice than a simple military conquest.

　Kevoran's expression grew even more serious. "There are more reasons for us to hold on until the very end."

　He had realized that this war was not only about the fate of Shadow Valley.

　The enemy quickly regrouped and advanced again. This time, they sent Templar Knights as their vanguard. Each of these knights wore the emblem of Bane, and their weapons gleamed with an ominous black light. Their armor was covered in runes, which shimmered with an eerie purple glow in the sunlight.

　Isis sensed a powerful negative energy emanating from the knights. She quickly adjusted her spells, attempting to counteract this energy. But the instability of magic made this exceptionally difficult. Her hands began to tremble, and pain flashed in her demonic eyes.

　“Watch out for those knights!” she warned. “Their weapons are infused with death energy; even a slight scratch can be fatal!” What she didn’t say was that these weapons could kill not only the body but also the soul.